


Once Upon a Winter

by zandral



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Anastasia AU, I Blame Tumblr, Multi, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-04
Updated: 2014-07-04
Packaged: 2018-02-07 10:07:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1895034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zandral/pseuds/zandral
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's 2014 and Steve knows in his heart that Bucky is still alive, and after finding 1970 Russian medical documents on a WW2 soldier they gave a remake of the serum to, Steve believes they're talking about Bucky. Meanwhile in Russian, Natasha and Sam are teaching this Bum how to act American so they can pass him off as Steves best friend to stop him from this sad and hopeless hunt. The Bum does not know anything about his past, only remembering a Blonde man and a tune he learned long ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once Upon a Winter

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, I'm Captainstevebarnes from Tumblr, and this is how I celebrate the 4th of July, Stucky Anastasia AU. No one who knows me should be shocked. Just so you know, italics are English.

As the snow crunched as combat boots stepped forward sluggishly, worn so that the heel of the left boot seeped in icy snow, but sturdy enough to get past the end of this winter without their owner having to steal another pair, the rush of wind passing in the Russian streets moved the frayed shoe laces gently in the air. The man who owned the worn boots was looking for a place to steal a loaf of bread, knowing that he needed to find shelter soon or General Winter would have him, the cold far more cruel than it was in the day time. He would break into an abandoned warehouse to keep warm for the night, knowing that there was one 3 blocks away that a few other homeless people stayed at. They wouldn’t bother him though, not even the homeless who had nothing would do anything with the man they had called Winters Soldier.

5 years ago the man came into Moscow with long greasy hair and wild eyes, not knowing anything about who he was, or where he was from. The Russian people who lived where he haunted warned their children that he was an old scar from when Russia was not as kind to its people as it is now. Before the man was considered harmless, not even the homeless on the street would allow him to stay in their abandoned shelters, worried about having their throats slit in the Russian moonlight. The man would say nothing as he was turned away, the cold taking him in when no one else would. People could swear they heard in the cold nights an American song, sung softly through the harsh night as if lulling the wind to sleep.

Now a days people mostly ignored the man, looking at him with a glance before leaving him alone. Sometimes he would work when a shopkeeper needed an extra hand carrying boxes out, and once or twice the older men would ask him to run an errand or two for their frail bones could not walk in the cold. As he walked past a baker’s old loafs that had hardened in the cold, the man pocketed one with ease, walking away from the baker who was still bickering with a customer about when spring would come. The man thought this was funny, knowing all too well that spring was a dream, and winter was reality.

“You know that’s illegal.” A woman’s voice softly came from the corner of an alleyway. Turning to look at the voice, the man saw a tall woman, with fire for hair and a smile that knew many secrets. Raising an eyebrow at the first person to talk to him all day, the man just simply raised the bread up so she could see it, before he taking a bite out it, almost as if he dared the woman to try taking the bread away. Instead the woman smirked, leaning on the brick wall of one of the buildings that created her hide away with a seemingly careless pose, like a spider who wanted to seem harmless to a moth flying too far away for her web to capture.

For a moment, the man waited to see if the woman wanted to say anything more, but all she did was look at him, it was unsettling for the man who has been ignored for more than 5 years, be so closely watched. He was not afraid though, and so when he walked away it was more because he was getting cold more than the woman’s stare made him twitch. Before he got too far though, the womans voice came back from her alley. “I know who you are.” She told the man into the cold wind, the words freezing him faster than any ice could. Turning, he walked back over to the woman, glaring now as he grabbed her arm roughly with his right hand, the bread crumbling in his left.

“Do not joke about that.” A rough voice came from the man, his throat not used to words coming from itself in ages. As he held the woman, the sound of a guns safety could be heard from father down the alley. Turning to look into the darkness, the man saw another human, a black male who was around the same age as the woman.

 _“Natasha di- ene see ta be carefrre”_ The man asked in a language that Russian could not understand, though a part of his mind recognized that he should. Schrunching his forehead, he let go of the woman as she talked to the man, a few of the words starting to make sense to him as the conversation went on.

_“Danger”_

_“Risk”_

_“Steve”_

_“Hope”_ The woman ended the conversation with that final word, a word the man remembered for some reason, though he hasn’t felt the emotion in years, he knew of it. It reminded him of the dreams he had when he was able to sleep, dreams of Summer and of golden wheat hair, blowing gently in the hot city wind.  It was one of the many reasons that the man had not just let Winter take him whole, having dreams of summer was the only ray of sun in his life now, and he was too selfish to let the General take it.

The woman named Natasha, it was what the other man called her at least, turned to look back at the homeless man, smiling the smile that reminded him of a trap, but she knew him, or at least was a good enough liar to make him think she did. “We’d like for you to come with us, you look like a man who we’re searching for.” The woman explained back in a language he knew, softly speacking to him as if she was speaking about a long wanted wish being able to come true . Looking down at his left hand, glove covered in crumbs from the dry stolen bread, he looked back up and nodded. The sun was setting, and if he truly did not like what they wanted, he could always run back into the cold winter night.

The black man who holstered his gun walked out of the Alleyway, and smiled at the Russian, “Names Sam, our hotel is 4 blocks south.” Sam told the man in a horrible attempt at Russian, but he was able to understand it. Nodding at this information, the man let Sam and Natasha guide the way, following close behind and watching the city people stare as their Winter Soldier was guided by two strangers to someplace else.  He ignored the stares and looked at the ground instead, keeping alert by hearing the strange but familiar language being passed between the two in front of him.

“ _Whaa yeer_ name?” Came Sam from up ahead, the man looked up and squinted his eyes at the two strangers in confusion.

“Name?” He asked, not knowing why they wanted one or how he knew the word, and also why he did not know if he ever had one. Thinking about it, the man looked around for a moment in thought, trying to think of a name before giving up. “I do not remember.” He explained. The two others looked at eachother with raised eyebrows, clearly not knowing what to say to this. The homeless man thought for a moment, feeling the heel in his left boot being filled with water yet again. He thought of his dreams, how the summer sun made him feel human, and the blonde man who was always there smiling at the nameless man.

“Yasha.” He finally replied as they were walking up to the building. The woman stopped short of the door, turning to look around at the man, a genuine emotion of surprise on her face, for once not speaking but just looking as she did the first few moments she met him.

“Why Yasha?” Sam asked in Russian, turning to look at the man now too. It was really none of his business why, but from the way Natasha was looking at the man, there was something special about the name to her. The man just shrugged, wanting to go into the heat of the hotel instead of talking outside, but as the woman kept looking at him waiting for an explination, the man, Yasha, shrugged once more before walking with his hands in his pockets now, up to the door, trying to think of a word that the man would know, but not knowing a word to describe the feeling, until he imagened the blonde man once more, blue eyes shining up at him with an emotion long ago forgotten.

“ _Home_.” Yasha said curtly, leaving the two strangers in the cold Russian dusk to follow him. As the homeless man walked further away from them though, Sam took this moment to ask Natahsa why she stopped. The woman just shook her head, looking up at her co-worker and friend.

“Yasha is the Russian name for James.” She explained, leaving both her and Sam to look at the man she found waiting at the first step of stairs to their hotel rooms , for once on their trip from America, uncertain if they were here doing the right thing.

“It’s common.”

“So it’s just a”

“Coincidence Sam, just a coincidence.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Send me a note on Tumblr, here or by dragon on how you like this. Happy 4th of July!


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